


it comes with a price

by electrumqueen



Series: the days were bright red [3]
Category: Emmerdale
Genre: Alternate Universe - His Dark Materials, Episode Related, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-31 10:15:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6466396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electrumqueen/pseuds/electrumqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liv is fourteen when her daemon settles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it comes with a price

**Author's Note:**

> episode tag to 4.4.2016. i care so goddamn deeply about aaron-and-liv, oh my god.
> 
> contains: quite a lot of gordon, but nothing graphic, just implied.

 

-

 

“He said something when I paid him,” Robert says. Just like that. She can picture his sleek, furious cat pacing up and down the room; she can feel herself shiver, even though she’s got a jumper on and it’s not cold at all, really.

Ambrose, in rat form, presses his nose to Liv’s cheek. She clutches her phone; her fingers feel nerveless. She wants to run. She wants to get out of here and never come back.

“She’s fourteen,” Aaron says. “She’s had her whole life turned upside down. She’s gonna have questions.” He sounds like he loves her. He sounds like he’d defend her.

She’s seen the way Aaron looks at Robert, and still: he defends her.

It’s weird. Even Mum doesn’t really defend them any more. She knows they’re trouble.

 

Ambrose whispers, _what do we do?_

Liv swallows, hard. _I don’t know._

 

-

 

Gordon - Dad - has a hyena daemon. They’re nice, hyenas. People say horrible things about them but they’re lovely, really. Liv and Ambrose looked it up on her phone. They’re matriarchal and they hunt in packs and it’s important that things get scavenged.

Dad’s nice. He’s funny and he tells her she’s special. Tells her that once this is all over they can have a real relationship. He can be her Dad.

 

His daemon is kind to Ambrose. Gentle. She lets Ambrose bat at her paws and rolls over so he can curl up on her belly, and if he turns into a hyena cub she washes him, gently, and neatens up his fur. It’s really nice. It makes them feel special.

 

Dad’s good at that. Making Liv feel like she’s doing the right thing.

She doesn’t understand why Aaron would lie about something like that. Why he would do that to Dad - why anyone would do that. But Aaron grabbed Mum, and that’s not a thing that normal people do, right? He held onto her, and Mum was shaking, and even his daemon had her teeth at Ardan’s fox throat.

Liv’s dad wouldn’t do something like that. It’s got to be Aaron.

 

-

 

Aaron has a mole. She’s little. It’s not really what Liv would have expected, but he’s not really what she expected.

Her name is Beatrice and when Ambrose runs up to sniff at her, he shifts easily into a mole, like a mirror.

They like Aaron. Aaron is easy to like.

But Aaron hurt Dad, and - they don’t want to lose Dad. Not now they’ve just found him.

 

Aaron doesn’t seem like a liar. He’s got nice eyes. He’s got a nice daemon.

When nobody is looking Beatrice will reach out a paw and let Ambrose snuggle up against her. It feels nice, honestly. It makes Liv feel all warm inside, safe. Like someone wants to look after them; like they’re worth being looked after.

It’s funny, because dad’s daemon, she does it when Liv’s getting scared, when they’re nervous. But Beatrice, she just - just does it cause she wants to. Cause she likes them.

It’s weird to think someone might like them. They’re not exactly used to it.

 

-

 

Chas, Aaron’s mum, has a big black wolf. He’s pitch-black, like volcanic rock, like a dead phone screen, like the park when Liv’s walking home alone at night.

“It’s a Dingle thing,” Aaron explains to them, in a low voice, Beatrice perched on his shoulder blinking fondly at them. “Wolves. His name’s Baruch, after an angel.”

“That’s weird,” Liv says, watching Baruch lean against Chas’ hip, stretching out his long, muscular paws.

“Family’s weird,” Aaron says. He ruffles her hair. “You’re stuck with us, though.”

Something gets all funny in her stomach. She leans against his side and says, “That’s rubbish.”

 

Baruch is wary of Ambrose, like Chas is wary of Liv. Liv’s used to it; it’s not exactly a new experience. Ambrose becomes a wolf cub to look at him, and Baruch follows him round with his big paws.

It’s fun. Ambrose makes a game out of it, darting between Baruch’s paws.

Sometimes Liv thinks they might be getting somewhere but then Chas says Liv’s name, firmly, and Liv remembers about Dad, about what they have to do, and - They knew it would be hard, when they agreed to do it. They _knew_. But they didn’t know it would be like this.

They’re used to the way Chas looks at them, though. Like they’re volatile; like they might go off. They try not to do it, Chas and Baruch, at least not be obvious; but Liv understands. You protect who you’re supposed to protect.

She thinks, probably Mum would do the same for them.

 

-

 

Robert has a big cat. They don’t trust Robert, and they don’t trust cats, either. Cats are tricky. People with cat daemons, you’ve gotta look out. They might rip you a new one, soon as be kind.

Robert’s got an edge to him and his cat has sharp, sharp claws. When Ambrose tries to say hello she bats him away, with a tail or a paw. It’s not very nice.

“Can we see the scar?” Liv says. Ambrose peers over her shoulder, a pine marten.

Robert’s daemon looks at them, cool and unimpressed. Stretches out one paw, which, Liv’s been on the receiving end of threats enough times to know one when she sees one.

Even Beatrice looks unhappy.

“Liv, seriously,” Aaron says. “Leave it.”

“All right, all right,” she says.

 

The thing about Robert is that his cat loves Aaron. _Loves_ Aaron.

Liv and Ambrose, they’re observant. They wouldn’t have made it anywhere if they weren’t.

Robert’s daemon, she’s black like ink, like midnight, but she lies at Aaron’s feet and her teeth gleam, and sometimes, when he thinks Liv isn’t looking, he reaches down to touch her - presses his knee to her side, or his ankle to her paw. And he looks happier when they’re there.

Like he trusts Robert, and Robert’s great cat daemon. He stops looking for exits in a room.

Like - like if something happens, he knows she’ll defend him.

 

-

 

They don’t remember Dad. Not at all. Mum and Ardan said, _he doesn’t want anything to do with us._ And they didn’t believe them, but it was hard not to.

When they were little, they used to make up stories about him. That he was a pirate, that he was a brilliant researcher, that he was Indiana Jones or a secret millionaire. That he’d come back, that Mum had lied to them and he’d wanted them all along. That he’d been stuck somewhere, held hostage.

The sort of story everyone tells themselves.

They didn’t like being like everyone else. But it was hard not to. Hard not to want.

 

Sometimes, they’d lie in bed and just list things. Bits, pieces, memories. Things they’d gleaned from Mum tossing out a word here or there. Mum rolling her eyes at Liv’s smokes, or Liv’s swearing, or certain colours, or types of jumpers, or salespeople in the street. Billboards, sometimes.

They’d lie under the covers and whisper to each other, _the colour of his daemon’s fur, the smell of tobacco._ A list of other people’s memories, to hold tight, to keep safe.

 

-

 

 _She’s the best thing that’s happened to me in ages,_ Aaron says, and they’re earwigging but still, Ambrose in the form of a mink curls against her throat and makes this soft, soft desperate noise and she clutches at him, digs her fingers into his fur, because to hear it - to hear it from _Aaron_ , with his soft voice, when she’s not listening, when he’s got nothing to gain and everything to lose -

 _I know,_ Ambrose says. _I know._

 _He loves us,_ she whispers. _They weren’t supposed to love us._

-

 

It’s cold, and they’re bored; wandering round the park, kicking at rocks. There are two men on a bench, and two daemons; a big black cat and what looks like a mole.

Ambrose, ermine-shaped, leaves Liv’s shoulder and darts along the sidewalk, runs up. The cat - it’s big, really big, higher than Liv’s hip and built with muscle - looks down at him distastefully. But the mole leans its nose down and Ambrose sniffs up, like, _hello._

“Excuse me,” she says. “D’you have any spare change?”

“Uh, no, sorry,” says the man next to the cat; he’s tall and blond and she didn’t expect anything out of him, anyway.

But the man with the mole is already patting down his pockets.

“I’ve lost my bus fare,” she tries. Ambrose looks innocent. They’re all right at looking innocent, if you don’t know them.

“Here,” says the second man, tipping a couple of pounds into her palm. He looks right at her, like she’s a person. Not a nuisance. Like he cares about her, like he hopes she’ll be all right.

“Cheers.”

Ambrose leans up and brushes his nose against the mole’s, like, _thank you._

 

They look back, as they walk away. “He was nice,” Ambrose says, leaping up onto her shoulder. “Kind.”

She settles one hand on the line of his back. “Yeah,” she says.

 

-

 

The heater is on in the car. It smells synthetic, thick and sharp and chemical. She could choke on it, but instead she just warms her fingers from the vents.

He’s supposed to love her, but he keeps talking about Aaron. The Aaron he’s talking about isn’t the Aaron she knows. When he says Aaron’s name his face twists, and his daemon growls, low in her throat.

It’s wrong. It’s not supposed to be like this.

Ambrose is a mouse in the hood of her jacket. She raises her fingertips and brushes them over his fur and he scampers down, along her wrist.

She is supposed to tell her dad about the recording she made. She’s supposed to help him.

But he’s supposed to be her dad, too.

 

“You don’t even wanna know me,” Liv says, a hot realization that settles in her stomach, makes her ill. “You only want me for what I can get for you.”

Ambrose bristles at her side and in a breath he is a lion. He is golden and brave. 

She thinks about Aaron. She thinks about the way he looked when he said he loved her, when he said he was glad he'd found her.

She thinks about the things they’ve said Gordon did.

The things he didn’t lie about. Because Aaron’s never lied to them, has he? Not once. Even when it would be easy. Even when it would be the kind thing.

Mum lied to her. Everyone’s lied to her. But not him: he looked her in the face, and told her the truth.

“Get out,” says Gordon. Leans across to shove them out and his daemon is snapping at Ambrose, all sharp teeth and angry eyes, and Liv thinks, _I don’t even know her name._

 

 _Why couldn’t you just be my dad?_ She tangles her hand in her daemon’s fur and holds on, tight, and watches him drive away.

 

-

 

“We’re on your side,” she says, one hand in her daemon’s fur, heart out on her sleeve. Her face feels tight; her whole body hurts.

His daemon cocks his head and looks at her, and her eyes are bright, and everything is so, so wrong.

 

Aaron won’t look at them. He’s crying, and she’s crying. She wraps her arms around her lion daemon, and tells the truth.


End file.
